The Alternate Fossil Fighter
by Starry's Light
Summary: The hero called Dino loses his best friend instead of choosing Rosie or Duna for the final Guhnash battle. A oneshot series full of fluffy romance between him and the girls! (OCs welcome, as well as ideas! Duna/Hero, Rosie/Hero)
1. Introduction

The Alternate Fossil Fighter

When it all came down in the end to whether the hero would choose one of two potential lovers, he had quite a choice. And even after making such a choice, he felt that whomever he left behind couldn't have ever lost her chance in the end anyways. A chance. That was what started it all: the worry about a chance and who gets it and why someone had to come in the first place, when it would only make everyone else mad, or sad, or just angry because why they couldn't come, too? The lips of his best friend who also happened to be a girl, who he loved in a final sort of way, one that didn't require kisses on the cheeks and roses and chocolates, had told him to go with the one he loved. But he... he "like-liked" both of them, and both would be upset no matter who he took.

He never thought so philosophically, this hero. He made his choices and then he acted on them. The words she told him, to "choose the one you love," strolled right on through his listless brain as he yanked her back affectionately and told her he'd rather choose his most best of friends, his very favorite person, than some girl who has feelings for him.

So it was his best friend, a fiery girl whose gaze gave her an overall look of pure, merry mischief that accompanied the hero on their mission to save the world. It was a battle to end the brains of the creature Guhnash, to end his ploy of eating their entire planet, but not such a particularly large one.

Only, simply, the girl he took with him on his adventure to end Guhnash revealed to be the one he would spend the rest of his life without. Like a fire, her soul extinguished, and he never saw his best friend again. So the hero found himself faced by the two females who held strong emotions for him, the exact ones that wished for kisses on the cheek and roses and chocolates, they were all he had left.

Because it so seemed to be that way, the hero took it to himself that now he had to try and fill this vastly-opening gap in his chest with the love and companionship of these two girls. Perhaps he'd find his true love betwixt the two, but maybe not. He only knew he needed the comfort and love they would be providing him.

So if they wanted flowers, they could have them, or sweets, they could have them.

And... if what they so desired had to do with lips connecting... He supposed in the end he would oblige with the ways of the females.

 **Hello, reader! My name is Starry's Light (as you can tell, haha.) Here we have a story about the Hero from fossil fighters, after ending Guhnash, losing his best friend (a vague girl whose default is "Jkonna") because of the stone sleep effects on their forms. She wasn't able to be excavated.**

 **In the story she and the others came from, this doesn't happen—it's here where Duna and Rosie both still stand a chance with the hero.**

 **Anyways, I welcome all ideas and story suggestions for The Alternate Fossil Fighter! These chapters are FILLED with romance between the Hero (he's called Dino) and Rosie and Duna, and anything goes! All ideas, OCs of people and vivosaurs, events, anything you want to suggest (even if you want to use your OC instead of "Dino" in a chapter) I'll make a chapter for and give you credit in the end!**

 **Thank you~!**


	2. Duna: Roller Coasting

**Figured I'd better write a Duna chapter or two since I know someone who is going to show up and request like five or so things with Rosie.**

Duna

"Um... Dino? You... you are sure this is a good idea, um, yes?"

"Pshh... good ideas are like second nature for me! Why wouldn't this be a good idea? C'mon, try to give me _one_ rea—"

"The... um... m-mine cart is... tipping? V-very much so, Dino? It is very much tipping and we are about to haul, um, ourselves, inside of it?" She pauses there, and quietly, Dino has to admit she has a... pretty good point. He waves an awkward hand through his gray strikes of hair and stares back at the girl almost his height. Her short, choppy, magenta waves don't really comfort him all that much: they're sticking out a little wildly the more her just-as magenta gaze strikes upon their silvery-barred mine cart. So... this will be fun. Yes. Very fun.

Casually his hand winds around her scaly back like he's pretending to be a good Dino. Because, see, he is pretending to be a good Dino. Gently, gently, in some way to throw her off, they steer closer to the unhinged mine cart tottering on the very edge of resilient clay rocks, where once they jump in if it balances they're okay. Because Dino really wants it to balance. He wants to make a seesaw. He and Duna would do pretty well at that; their heights are almost the same, so, like, they weigh the same too, right?

Silly Duna. The mine cart's supposed to be tipping. Maaaybe not that severely, but same thing, right? Yeah. Same thing. Duh. He's still steering the highly reluctant—and intelligent for that matter—girl toward the mine cart, very slowly, hoping she won't freak out or anything or her tail like trips up or something that probably will happen; and she hasn't seemed to pick up on it yet. But then again she's Duna. She probably already has, and she's trying to be optimistic or nice or maybe both.

Duna. They won't die. Come on.

Inching closer, his smirks grow all the wilder, because only in due time will they... very soon... get there. From the back of his head, a voice called a vivosaur yowls at him that he's a complete idiot and he yowls back in his head that no he's not.

There. There. With one hand so secure around her back, the other easily peels off and unto the middle of her spine and _tmp_ she goes straight into the metal box of death. Or seesaw. It's gonna be a seesaw. He's not gonna kill Duna, that'd be a horrible idea. While Duna's head still reels, the light scales tipped back into the arcing hiss of the sun, Dino plops himself on the nearer edge and kicks slightly at Duna and he is so excited man because now it'll balance and they can pretend they're on a—

Everything begins grinding very very loudly in such a way that suggests this isn't gonna be a seesaw much longer. As brakes squeal and hidden levers pull, and everything else appears ready for falling apart on first notice, Duna's head snaps into reality and her face begins to pale rather dramatically. Uhhh, it's... no big deal this is totally how a seesaw works.

"Dino!" she squeaks hoarsely.

"Yeaaah?"

"Are we about to die!"

"No." He's very sure about that last part. The seesaw's gonna pull out for them and did Dino ever mention he's a complete idiot and his ideas are terrible? No, of course not. That's... not true. He doesn't think it's true. His olive face awkwardly tries to brighten up and smile as his stomach sends off into the pits of somewhere bad and the mine cart, with a fatal _pruummmmp,_ flits off like a dying bird from the edge of the dig site's ground.

Duna's cry goes a little over his head. "Diiino! Dino! Dino, look at me!"

"This is new. I didn't know seesaws did this."

"DINO!" Her face is kinda red now, too. Well then. Fearfully, with no other safe place to go, she hurriedly crawls from the very bottom of the cold, silvery, unforgiving heart of the mine cart toward his side, the both of them so squished their legs begin to overlap and Duna's morning blue face only further reddens, the tips beginning to shine purple. She hisses something under her breath; Dino gives her the most smug of a glance he can currently muster as the force of the wind picks up severely enough to plaster their hair and force back their cheeks. Everything sounds like a soft _barrum,barrum,barrum,barrum_ in the distance. Their ears probably hate them. It's cold. The wind crushes with a sense of chilling, vengeful strength. Like the whole entire world is against them.

Freezing now in place beside him, Duna awkwardly nuzzles close to the boy who forced her into this death trip.

"HEEeeeyy!" he cries to cry out toward her, "LOOOoOook at aaAAALL this BBEeeaaaAaaAAUUUTttTTtyyyyyYYY!" His hands waggle outward and nearly lift him off out of the mine cart until Duna slaps them back to his sides. To make sure he doesn't do anything else that's stupid, she binds his hands down with her own, her face only getting redder, if even possible. Not even red now, she's blushing purple.

But... he is right. Her eyes awkwardly lounge out toward the pealing air and she must squint to see it, but the world around them, doused in clouds, in air, in the sky, in the big ball of warming and beautiful sun they never had on the dinaurian planet, it... it is a little beautiful.

Then they begin sailing straight for whatever lies below at an alarming pace. The spell has been broken. Duna squeaks. The force of the wind is too much for Dino to hear it so he just smiles her bashful, petrified way.

She's not quite sure why he looks so chill about this. Her mind wanders; she wonders: it's not because... he's thinking about _her_ , is he? Is he thinking about when they do hit the ground and the jarring force kills them, is he thinking that it will be romantic to die together? I-Is he thinking about this and it makes him happy anyways? Duna grows flustered as she tries to look at all but Dino's lips. It almost, almost works.

Fearful, the wind wraps and sucks about them as it spirals and they spiral and they fall, fall, fall and it's not beautiful it's death, and eventually, as Duna is sure they only have seconds to live before—

 _KER-PLOOOOOSSH!_

They land. In the middle of banks of beautiful, life-saving, glorious, sparkling waters. The impact does shake her entire body and she's not sure she has the bravery to... move... right now... but they're not dead.

This is why Dino wasn't afraid and appeared merely bored. He knew they were going to live; and he'd wanted a seesaw, not a roller coaster. He doesn't pertain well to roller coasters.

Duna, hopeless in tears of the fact that he _hadn't_ killed them, tightly wraps herself around the boy and sobs into his soaking gray clothes. And awkwardly, he pats at her head, staring up at the rivets above them, wondering how he'll get the mine cart back up there, how he'll get its strangely buoyant structure out of the water in the first place.


	3. Rosie: Hat Shopping

**Kudos to Shadow Snivy for all of her crazy reviews! This chapter is one of her ideas she sent. X3**

Rosie

Angry. It sounds angry. The door, it sounds very, very, very angry. The bite of the bark against the hard _brap brap brap_ of the knock causes Dino tiny tremors as he tries to hide in his covers, this of course a fail as his single figure causes a large lump in the bed. A large, obvious lump that his pestering girlfriend of sorts easily spies when she peels off into the room without him answering her knocking in the first place. Probably because she figured he wasn't gonna say anything.

Well, she was right. Dino, the contemptuous rock he is, releases a well pent-up snort from his position on the bed. Rosie by now has figured out where he is of course. It's quite obvious. Frosting soft tips of fingers gently tickle over the hunched figure hiding beneath layers of rugged, blue blankets, and still he feels the delicate touch of female: only it's not just female, it's Rosie, Rosie in all of her pink splendor. Her touch just happens to be easily felt by him over all others. She _thoop-thoop-thooooops_ her fingers into the covers. Angrily waiting. Yes. He sees this: very, very angry.

Knowing it's futile, his head hesitantly pops out from the covers. A reluctant nodo, he is, blearily crawling out of his shell and into the depths of the futile. Great, big, magenta, feminine orbs—look at those eyelashes—meet him. Her fingers pry him from his wonderful, comforting home and he splats against the ground rather unappealingly.

Glaring beneath the flutter of mostly dark lashes, Rosie sticks up her head with her hands on her hips, probably feeling a lot scarier than she actually is. "Dino!" booms out her squealing, high-pitched, very slightly pubescent tone, "you still have my hat, don't you!" He stares dully at said crime, first at her head covered in bubblegum hair, this unruffled and stuffed into two wildly spinning bobs by rather secure hairbands. Then he glances under the musty confines of his bed, which smell rancid, like something wet slept under there last night, and there at the very edge lies in its old, dusty glory, the pink hat made almost from some sort of crocheted substance. It was a soft hat, he recalls. It didn't deserve its fate of being worn by Rosie; and Rosie's pretty head didn't deserve a hat blotting out her beauty. Not like he'd ever tell her that.

"C-come on, Dino! Give it back!"

Because it's way too much explanation to go over how much he's in love with how she looks without her hat, he simply says "Nah."

"Why not?" she whines in return. Dino sort of smirks, but it's obvious he doesn't really mind about how squeaky Rosie's voice is, even though it _is_ really squeaky. "It's my hat, anyways!"

Staring up at her, having removed himself from his curled position in the attempt of standing just after waking, he mumbles weakly, "Naaaaaah." Then the boy proceeds to fall on his knees and blearily blink again for a few seconds. His bearings have been lost, how will he regain them.

Her hands remove themselves from the intense fluff of her skirt and sidle over each other on her chest. The glare's beginning to wobble. She was never good at anger. Or being upset with Dino in general. It's always "I really like you" this and "I wanna kiss you" that, blegh, girls. "Well, then...

"If you're not gonna give me it back, then I guess I'd freaking better force you with me to get a new one! You absolutely _have_ t-to come with me!" Lip wobbling, Dino also decides it would be futile to tell her he finds that poor girl's pose so endearing he couldn't say no even if he wanted to.

Wait. "What?" So they have to get, like, a new hat now? After he already removed Rosie of her old one? But she looks beautiful without a hat shadowing her face, making her look so, like, mature! Ugh. Stupid Rosie. She looks cuter and naïve's a better face for her. Hats, just, like... ruin everything.

But there's no way he can tell her off now. No... she'd go get another hat. He'll just have to figure out what words he's supposed to use to explain the strange, burning sensation in his chest and that she'd better not use another sort of headgear because that's horrible. Somehow... It'll probably be a long, perilous journey too. That's great. Dino really loves long, perilous journeys. So does the wet creature that slept under his bed last night.

"Let's just go already... I'd better try to find myself a new hat..." Her fingers twine with the flesh on Dino's olive arm, and Rosie pulls off. Her pink bobs of tails, secured by the two hair accessory things, jiggle a little angrily as she twirls in place and Dino isn't allowed to walk anymore. Well this is new. She must... really not trust him to walk on his own without trying to ditch her. Oh... wow... Enter the guilt.

Eventually, Rosie's vice grip releases, and all is well as she storms straight through the fancy store with the walls and the windows and the ceiling they'd just tumbled into. Her hand's literally stuffed in their currency: little dents of red begin to pockmark upon her pretty porcelain skin. Dino has to kick himself to make sure he doesn't squeal about her beauty going to waste. She probably, like, wouldn't understand or something. His eyes lay waste to the knotted carpet they each casually trip on, so that, with his face soaking in the flush of red, he... he doesn't know, he looks less angry or something like that. His hands found themselves in pockets some time ago, head half hunched, body only moving because the one beside him refuses to stop.

His fingers threaten to escape from the left side and latch hold of her right hand but he's scared he'll be overcome by the incredible urge to kiss her so he sorta stays put.

Slowly, as they wind their way around thick boutiques drenched in the stench of "hat spray" and fluffy counters lined in peculiar aopteryx—the bird—feathers, Rosie's demeanor begins to sugar down again around him. Sometimes her grudges last this long... and they recur later, like with the whole hat thing. He hopes this time he'll have it in him to tell Rosie why he doesn't want her to wear a hat. Oddly, feeling much more awkward than usual, he eyes her face out of the corner of his sight, seeing how her soft features only further shine as she grows used to the boy slouching and following her around everywhere. Again forgiving him a little bit more for his random crime of robbing her hat.

He wishes he had the guts to tell her why. But—but he's gotta tell her. He absolutely _has_ to tell her before she buys a hat for herself that she falls in love with, blah blah blah.

Abruptly they stop in front of a small station featuring brand name hats left in front of mirrors, so that they can try on the looks before actually purchasing anything. The mirror, doused and surrounded in glitter, somehow stands pretty well on its counterpart of the long, thin booth of moonlit white, to which Rosie capsizes a fluffy, oversized hat on Dino's head and suddenly he loses his hearing quite vividly.

She places on her own crown a small, plush tiara that sparkles and glitters and further provides the look of amused idiocy on Dino's face. Her small lips form a moue as she glances back for him, until her arm reaches over and tugs his gray self into her side in a small hug. Dino, gaze flitting into the mirror, eyes past the dreary background of fabrics and materials the chipper look of a smiling, bright, pink-faced Rosie whose happiness is so evident he again is overcome by that strange urge. Catching her gaze through their reflections, soon his own face flickers in mild pink and she giggles cutely.

That doesn't help.

Dino still hasn't told her anything. He's... unusually tongue-tied today. Well, great. Just great.

By now he's not even sure where they are in the hectic department store, just that they're not near the doors and that time is most certainly slipping out of his hands. Clothes and fabrics, handbags and skirts, they all spill around him, shoes that could fit from a child to an entire vivosaur, belts, for some reason, and hovering and preening on its beautiful, gilded spot on a shelf high above, where Dino can reach but Rosie not, there it hangs. Its fabric spills about the bodice like a fan, it covering Rosie's face, from the sides to the back and of course brimming over her head, it covers her much more than her old one had. Its imprint of petunias, background of simple gold-spun thread, the scoop of a top where her head fits comfortably: it's the one she's going to buy.

Oh gosh, Dino can't have that. Well, at least she's not very tall. He finds relief, then, in the small things.

"Dino?" Lashes flutter again. Her lips form into a soft beg. Oh gosh, she doesn't know it but he can't refuse that face. It's too cute. It's too sweet... it's too much...

That entire head will be wrapped in a turban-like shawl and never be seen by him ever again if he doesn't do something about it. And he can. Oh he can.

"Dino? Please... can you get that hat for me?"

Sauntering up, suddenly bigger and stronger than he's ever been in his entire life, Dino raises his gray orbs and stares down upon Rosie, and answers, hoarsely, "no."

"Um... Dino..?" It's killing him it's killing him he has to look away his eyes slam shut. "D-D-Dino! Eeek! D-Don't die now!" Come on, Dino, let's man up now. You have absolutely no close friends who are male, and so this should be really, really easy. Deep breaths. Man up. Slowly he raises his opened eyes down upon the girl, her shoulders within his gentle grasp.

Suddenly they feel like the same size. He's not so high and mighty. His throat threatens to give.

"Ummmm... S-see, Rosie... I-I-I..." He glances back. Choked tears in gaze. Embarrassed. "I... think you're u-u... ha! I think you're ugly in a hat!"

The fact that now her eyes are flooding in tears means that was the wrong thing to say. Girls are so hard.

"Aaaah! No! No no no! I don't mean it like that! Um... listen... you... Rosie, you..." He's trying, but...

"Darn it. I can't explain it... But Rosie, you're..."

Sighing, he lowers his head and softly kisses her.

In the end, that seems to do the trick.


	4. Ship Day!

**Decided I wanted to make holiday stuff when I remember, eheh. So it's Valentines Day! Yay!**

 **(although kudos to Shadow Snivy (again, haha) for the original idea x3)**

Softly she hums as she sweeps herself around the small, tidy chamber. She could not believe how lucky Rosie is to have an entire little kitchen area all to herself because of the mark her grandfather had apparently made on this world of theirs, a mark so deep he was allowed, with assistance of others, to craft the largest house he deemed fit—and this modestly huge, so that he has two rooms of many, as well as a larger kitchen connecting to this smaller, circular area placed with cupboards and pantries and ovens and the sort to the further edges. How very elegant it is! A faint shade of yellow dawns the wood and the floorboards and the more tangerine walls, only it all has of course draped in fields of pink bows.

Rosie is a friend. Duna likes her and eventually, she rubs off on the pinkette enough to allow her to like her too, so that even though they both "technically" are "fighting for the love of one boy," which Duna does not believe, she just likes him happy, they can be friends as well. Duna soaks in the great shine of this happy chamber and awaits for her friend to return. She had said she would check on the boy first before arrival, to be sure there would be time for him on this... this special day? She had never heard of such a holiday until Vivosaur Island...

Ship Day, they call it? Like... relation... "ship?" Would it be? Was that what Rosie told her to quench the curiosity? She shakes her head a little forcefully, more than a mite bit confused. Her plumes of short, magenta hair rise and fall with her breaths.

Finally the door connecting to the larger kitchen spills open with light and the faint scent of flowers. Rosie's bobbed hair explodes in along with that firecracker of a personality. She plunks herself into one of the chairs by the round, table-clothed furniture in the midst of the room and sighs. "He told me he's tired again... and he doesn't wanna see anyone. Hmmm..." A whine begins to trill in her voice. "Why is he always so like this these days? Gah! I don't like it! I don't like iiiiit! I don—"

Duna's gentle fingers press into the forehead of her angered friend and she gently but powerfully their eyes connect. "If he feels ill, he feels ill," she remarks softly, "but in both ways I still wish to help him if I can. You spoke of... um... you having something in the... re... the re..."

Rosie giggles if but for a moment. "Refrigerator? Yeah, I made up some cake batter from scratch earlier... But, but Dino! But he's being so dumb!"

Quickly the dinaurian girl struggles to cut this energetic mouthful off again. "Um! Ro-Rosie! B-but you see... if he is not feeling well, then we should attempt to patch up where it hurts and, um... make him feel better, if we can, yes? Do you not suppose that would be a far more sufficing idea than, er... pouting over it? It is sad, yes, but... we should be strong and... um..." She ducks her head. Embarrassing.

"Oh... h-hmm... yeah, I guess so, but... but it's easier to wanna just force all these feelings and... well, show him! Tell him!"

Again Duna squeaks and looks away. "Yes, but... that may be harmful for him... And I worry for such assets..." Perhaps it... would be better to tackle another approach. He did not respond very well to that tact Rosie used. It is not like they can pretend nothing had ever happened to the boy, or that he had lost his best friend so shortly ago.

Rosie squeals. "Arrgh! Fine! Let's just make the stupid cake and give it to him already! Have it your way!" And oddly, Duna is pleased to this reaction.

They set to work, each donning spare aprons of the sort—each shrouded in hand-sewn roses the color of one's blushing cheeks. She does not know how to feel upon guarding her dinaurian body of scales in cloth, but it seems that this is the right thing to do when one bakes. Rosie stuffs out of the big, white box in the corner—was it refrigerator?—a clear bowl contaminated in squishy, sugar-coated dough, loudly depositing it on a spare counter as she unwraps the strange, clear vial of paper-like substance surrounding it. Duna, while not understanding these appliances, finds them enjoyably useful in the hands of these vivaldi people. She smiles as the pink one works, albeit furiously.

Together, once the great lug of sugary, squishy substance has been uncovered, they knead its doughy entity and roil with it until Rosie sinks her eyes through it and she scowls all the louder. "This batch is so horrible. We should just give up."

"Wh-wh-what?" squeaks the bluer female in return. "It looks... um, very... very nice. Why would it appear in any ay s-spoiled?"

Rosie yells back, "Because it just feels like it!"

"I-I-I am sure D-D-Di-Dino w-would be h-happy just ha-having a c-cake in the firs—"

"Uuuugh! Fiiiine! Have it yooour way Duuuunaa!" She slams the fragile-looking bowl against the counter again for unneeded emphases. Perhaps she does not understand how shamelessly loud her voice already is.

Blinking wildly, stuttering in place, Duna wonders why Rosie is so scary when she is upset about Dino. She is... very protective, like a motherly vivosaur nigh, upon the boy, and she never likes it when others go near him. A fierce lady who preferred a wandering boy who missed his best friend all to herself. Duna finds it a little... cool, she supposes the word is. Yes; quite, um, cool, indeed.

Pink fingers slap a hunk of dribbling and rather large dough bit into shaking, scaly hands. "Here. It's gonna be a seven layer cake. Knead this into a heart." Into a... into a... a heart? Like the actual... Worried and flustered beyond repair, Duna glances sparingly toward the girl to her side who is currently pounding in thick thumbs the shape of a sort of curvy substance, a pointed bottom loping around from two curvy sides into a studded meeting point in the middle. It seems... not so hard, and rather lavish for a cake design. She wonders if Dino likes these... heart shapes.

Meticulously, the flowery girl with a short temper stamps through her dough to form the shapes as quickly and nicely as she could. She kinda doesn't care if they're perfect or whatever and in the end even hands a bit of it for Duna to try and craft the middle—so at least if it's bad no one could tell the difference—and in the end they have obtained some nicely-shaped heart bits, to which Rosie shoves into her pink-painted oven and slams it shut after adjusting the dial.

Secretly she is happy Duna had, although stuttered and weak in such a way, been so wanting to craft a cake for Dino. Even if he is being so whiny about that best friend of his who had to go and... like, leave... It's Ship Day, when the people of Vivosaur Island entertain the thought of showing love for one another, especially those who are, well... quite close, as in romance, as in—Dino stop crying about a best friend... Rosie's love for him's superior!

Again she thinks of scaly, bluish Duna, herself lightly touched in pink in places, a nice pink, not like Rosie's pink, which is everywhere. But her favorite color's pink, so... Growling, she impatiently waits for that dough to rise and that cake to be ready to frost. She'd gotten Duna on icing, choose-any-color-you-freaking-want, so she has no worries for some nice few hours as the cake rises and forms in the oven. And the icing is made too.

She peeks carelessly over toward her... friend... a few times, that scaled girl as she gently searches for ingredients in the fridge and the pantry, collecting the dyes, and all of them, it seems, that bag of sugar she had lying around, finding all that she needs to make such a substance, using the tiny card with the recipe on it as guide. Grandpa always makes sure she has someone else around if she's baking, but it has to _has_ to be someone he approves of. He'd told her enough times he'd never ever let her bake with Dino over her shoulder because he wouldn't help make sure her emotions don't go out of control and nothing catches on fire.

But that man... her white-haired grandfather for some reason likes Duna.

It was from he and his white hair and her, well, passed grandmother, she of redder hair origins, and down the line of her dad's family, that eventually created her fluffy pink self. Not just... a weird, u-um, Rosie thing...

Duna's not like Rosie. In a lot of ways. She doesn't have a grandpa she knows well, for one. And apparently she doesn't know her parents, either. She knows that Dynal guy, and she has this older brother—Raptin or whatever—but no actual... living parents. And she's so... calm, almost always. She sometimes appears... not cold, because her anger isn't cold, but well hotheaded and stubborn, but it's this weird tip where she tries to sort command what she needs and state her reasons why. Like with those sub-idolcomp dolls.

So awkward. Such an awkward girl.

How could two so different girls both be so attracted to the same guy? She... doesn't get it... and why does Dino... No, why does he do a lot of things? He's so confusing... Rosie wonders...

She wonders... and she wonders... but she never seems to know...

Something suddenly pinches her arm.

"Um... R-Rosie? I saw you were... nodding off some, but is the oven you pointed out to me... you did not tell me if it was supposed to emit steam?"

"EEEEAAUGH!"

Fearfully Rosie leaps from her and scorns through the billowing smoke, blinking angrily at her tiring orbs and shoving the oven door open where she finds some... charred hearts.

Not completely! No no, each layer's too thick to cause that. But there's holes and... one's ripped straight in half and... oh, oh gosh, they couldn't give this to the boy... They could blow off the dust and it'd probably taste okay, judging by what she used but... "AUGH! THIS IS AWFUL!" She blinks back tears that formed somewhere she couldn't tell.

"Aah. N-no... it is not, Rosie. It is okay... I, um, made the frosting like you asked, and we can... um... coat the hearts." Warily Rosie glances and somehow isn't fazed to find that Duna had made ashes-gray coloring. Although silver does happen to be Dino's favorite... "A-And it will be okay, yes?" She repeats this softly to herself as Rosie wants to scream.

But she glances back at the taller girl, those big, dark orbs that glance and shine hopefully towards her. So... wishing. She'd never made a cake before, reasons Rosie, and although the pinkette had made many and was quite talented at the art... she still had yet to make any for Dino and... and well... make any for others than... herself and her grandpa... um... awkward...

Turning away, Rosie angrily wipes at her tears and mutters, "Fine..."

So, very slowly this time, and very gently, they do coat the hearts in the color Dino would most desire. Duna, who hadn't touched much of the white, finds reason in giving the bottom layers a darker look and the higher much lighter, brighter almost. Hesitantly Rosie pops a piece that had crumbled off into her mouth, frosting and all, and... sighs. It is... sort of crunchy, like a waffle, and it almost has this air of ash on it, but it... it's not _too_ horrible for her admittedly refined tastes.

"I... it looks very pretty. U-Um, like a masterpiece..?" Duna looks away, blushing yet again.

Fearful of both shoving her emotions at Dino again and taking such a wobbly semi-masterpiece over toward him, the shorter pinky sends off the dinaurian to go find that boy and force him over here as Rosie begins the process of cleaning. Okay, she is allowed to freaking clean. Her grandpa can't get onto her for _that._

Finally, when they show, and Rosie has a halfhearted smile as she shows him their... cake... the boy seems... not so upset with it. In fact she could see the whites of his gray eyes upon looking and watch his mouth slide right open.

He's freaking ecstatic over what she finds a failure, and even after the first bite, he follows with more and more until awkwardly asking the other two to join because he couldn't keep such a thing to himself. She can't believe... she can't believe...

Glancing toward her, Dino happily pats her head with fingers full of silvery frosting.


	5. Duna: Forgiveness

Duna

Hesitant. Her heart beats in her feet as she moves. Small, blue toes, lined in pearl-like, shiny cuts of scales. Hopeful like the sky. Murky like the oceans. She prances in place on the balls of her feet and she worries, she worries she worries.

The room about her, descending around her, colors dark. It is like he has gotten out bits of charcoal and scribbled upon the entire situation. He has not quite looked back at her, not yet, as she tugs at him fearfully, quietly, and she looks up and watches him. His spines of pencil gray hair flutter where her magenta orbs roll over; it makes her want to laugh. A jumpy, useless, hysterical laugh that would set them both immediately on edge. Her hands have weaved through his one arm. As he paces, she follows obediently. Her tail twirls the air behind them as they walk in their weary circles.

She worries. She worries a lot, so she should not be surprised. Her orbs stare fearfully until she must be boring holes into his head by it. Still he does not turn. Her brain is frantic: what did she do wrong? How did she fail? She must be awful... Duna feels putrid. The scent is strong on her lips. So familiar, the taste; she flinches back at it.

"Di...no?" Finally, some words. She speaks and tastes the air when she does. He does not quite move, not yet, he does not quite look at her. But he heard her. Though he showed no reaction, she knows he heard her because she simply knows. It is one of those things. As she follows, his pace seems to sharpen, a little faster, a hop over a step, even. The room darkens about her. She feels broken in place. Her heart seems to pace the lonely corridors of the cell it was confined into since the very beginning.

It is dark in here. Her head swivels. Not a stone is left unturned; not a spot is without shade clinging upon it. Like a scared little sister, it hugs and never releases the grip it withholds. She can relate; thoughts of her dear brother curl in her eyes.

Finally she feels her throat glisten again. The need to try. The need to speak out to him. To make him—let him—hear. Sharply she gnaws at her cheek. "Dino." Stronger. Her blurry murmur of words takes form, shape, substance. He halts for a moment. He continues his listless stroll. He stops. And thus. He stops. Moments. He stops and he does not move in any of them. She waits accordingly. To herself she nearly wishes to smile: but that wish is of hysterical origins. She does no such thing.

He waits with her. His gray body sets awash in shadow at her very touch, her very looking upon his being. He is quiet for their shared, never-ending moment, and so is she. She feels that they each understand she will eventually break this moment, link them into another, and again cause a void of silence to fall upon them. It simply seems their way. Her fault. The rock-like walls feel to close in on her. Shadows deepen. Tighten. They are everywhere. Somehow, Dino, in all of his gray glory, has become the lightest one in the entire room.

Duna is tired. Her gaze: fuzzy. Her thoughts: slumbering. Her wishes: agony. Her needs: Dino. Listen to her, she wishes to scream. But she cannot. It is forbidden. The darkness is everywhere and if she shouts no one will listen, but these few and far between whispers, maybe they can squeeze through.

Betwixt darkness and darkness, she speaks again. "Dino." He listens. Still does he listen.

"I am sorry."

And it is out. All that she might have done to him. All of the harm he may have felt. It is out. It is out. She told him. Sh-she told him...

Nothing to do now. Only can she wait. Her heart thuds painfully as she watches the shadows thicken around him like eyebrows. Dark, piercing eyebrows that one never forgets, sharp and shapely made, thick to the touch, fuzzy, unforgettable, nightmarish eyebrows. Duna shudders to herself. She feels marginally pathetic at this. The rock is cool to her feet, which seem to sink into the shade. Her shoulders lock and Duna has to snuff out any sound when she threatens to cry.

She swallows.

Time seems to tick, tick, tick worthlessly. As if it is nothing and it does not matter. And nothing matters... d-does it? Dino matters.

A sigh.

She is frozen and he is frozen. There is nothing left. Black seems to etch within her vision. It is hard to focus on much. She feels defeated. Perhaps she is defeated. Tired. Ready to give up. Wishing, wishing she could give up.

Somewhere nearby, a string tugs.

"I know."

His face, crumbling upon her, welcomes her shivering body into his, his hug stricken with emotions that she knows now he wishes to show her and tell her about but it is impossible to eke them. But they are together; and that is what matters, in the end.

Somewhere nearby, a curtain spills open. Light again, in a welcome slice, fills their chamber with the singsong whisper of grace.


	6. Duna: Weirdos

**This one's a kind of strange drawl I sort of came up with out of nowhere... xD**

Duna

They stroll peacefully, slowly, their thoughts in megathish and slow, thick circles around one another. Smiles accompany each of them. His hand is in hers, and right now he doesn't mind, knowing what kinda thoughts are making her cheeks go oh, so thickly red. It makes him laugh. She sort of glares at that, her pink-cut orbs sparkling something fierce as he smiles back softly.

"Hey, Duuunaaaa?" he calls, gentler than he gives off. A spark in his tone, and yet a sort of warmth that only follows him. Her eyes follow, too; her bluish cheeks redden—purple—considerably.

"Yes, Dino?"

He offers a sharp little grin. "You remember that one guy, Captain Woolbeard? The pirate whose room you so elegantly busted into? And then of course when you saved a certain vivosaur of mine from him, all that fun stuff." Gray eyes twinkle. "Do you remember that?"

Her orbs, so cute and big and round, take a moment to clutch upon that. Her mouth mirrors them, in one big "oh." There's some slow blinking. "Um... yes? The ghost, yes? He had a bow in his strange beard, and his vivosaurs that he had, they were ghosts as well, yes? Him, would it be?"

"Um. Yeah." He snorts. "Don't make it so complicated. Just him."

She struggles to nod and catch up. Her own footsteps halt when she's thinking—which is even cuter—and she's not as fast as him, so she constantly is in a rush to keep up when he feels like moving anyways. It's funny to see her scuttle toward him. It's cute. Duna, spluttering, mumbles, "Just... him. The ghost. Captain... Woolbeard."

And thus he nods. His spines of gray hair bounce, just a little, caught in the blinding sunshine of the afternoon. A precious sort of warmth swirls about in the atmosphere. "Yeah. Isn't he _weird_ , Duna? He's soooooo weird."

"W-weird?" She's back to spluttering again. He can't help but giggle... just a little bit. Because it's so cute. "So... so he is weird, n-now? Dino?"

His laughter cuts across the plains ahead and behind them. A shattering: talons through mud, or a whisper in the night. "Yeah, he's so weird! He took my medals, and he gave me one of the idols—dolls—uh, sub-idolcomps—and he talks weird too! Like, wooly what? 'Wooooly woo?' Hahaha! That's so weird! He's so weird..." His eyes glisten with humorous tears at the thought of the ghost captain, and he laughs again. Duna's face shadows in her bright magenta bangs, her lips screwing up nervously. It'd... make her uncomfortable to call an otherwise kind-looking man "weird." She is shy.

Olive skin brushes against her scaled arm. "But!"

She blinks, mumbles, "...but?"

They move on in their stroll for a lull of time. He silent, she silent. Her eyes speak of curious wonders, thoughts on what the boy may be about to venture into this time. His bright and bouncy, as he goes on; "But McJunker's pretty weird too! Oh. Man. Have I told you about him?" Rapidly her head shakes and bits of magenta hair curl about her face. Her nice little face, pretty curves shaping her cheeks and her chin. Dino giggles. "Well, he's in Rivet Ravine. The dig site up high in the air with all the cracks you can fall down? _And_ the mine carts. He sorta makes sure they don't break. And that nobody else breaks, too. But he's sooo weird. You remember the BB Bandits? The guys in purple? Like, his accent though: 'purple'uns?' What the heck is a purple'un? Haaah.."

Duna's gaze slowly, like clockwork, slides to one corner of the field around them. It glows, just slightly, in the essence of sunshine dashing upon it, but otherwise she takes no such recognition into it. She mumbles over her words when she tries to say, "Diiinoo... Um, but, why would you call them weird? A-are they not your friends? Is it kind to call them weird, and is it right..? A-are you not weird? Is this entire world not weird, Dino?" Blushing, her gaze wends its way into the grass again.

"Hmmmm? Oh. Uh. Weeellll... I guess so. But they're really funny about it!"

"But..." She darts back toward him again. The strange urge to place herself very close to him and hide her head into his chest overcomes her; Duna attempts to continue the conversational thread she was on with this thought inside. "But—um—Dino! Your voice... some people might find that weird, yes? It is... soft, but warm and vibrant. And not quite energetic, for it is lax... but it is not simple or deep in any of the sort. Do you... understand what I am trying to say?" The flustered dinaurian cannot look at him any longer and refuses to try to.

He merely smiles. "Duna, I don't think you're weird."

"Wh-what?"

"I don't. But Raptin is."

"Di-Di-Diinoo?"

And again, a giggle. "It's just how I feel, I guess. But you're probably right, too. Heh..." His gaze sinks, like a ship, over the horizon. Its glistening is unlike that of the ground, for the blues of the sky hold no life: only shapeless colors give it form. "I'm a particularly flawed human being, so what can I say, eh? That's just how I see things sometimes. And they _are_ weird... at least I think." His eyes slowly draw for the girl by his side. "I'm mean, aren't I?" Soft giggles.

Her face alights like flame. "Aaaaaah! N-No! Dino, you are not mean! Do not say such a thing like so! I wi-will _refuse_ to believe it, o-okay?!" She slumps a little under the weight of their so carelessly tossed words. "M-Maybe sometimes you are very emotional about... certain things... o-or... maybe certain people, but... there is nothing wrong with that, i-i-iiif you ask me..." Her pink and blue body capsizes toward him; gently, he takes her other hand too, and he smiles. Their faces close, he feels her bits of breath on him and it makes him want to laugh again; instead his cheeks pink, just the slightest.

While she's distracted by how close they're standing he kisses her; and he laughs as her face only burns hotter; and he wonders how purple he can make it go, softly placing his lips over hers again, and again, and again, until she nearly collapses, the emotions leaking out of her.

Not really sure what else to say, he murmurs, "Thank you, Duna," to his sweet, sweet girl.


	7. Rosie: Cliché Pippy

**Another idea via Shadow Snivy. So, um, thank you for that x3  
*Pippy is a vivosaur that Dino owns. A seismo. Very emotional at that. XD Also, his accent is British. Because that's important to know.**

Rosie

 _Waaaaaaaaaaaaahhyyyyyyyy! Pippy, pleaaaaase heeelp meeeeeeee! Make me better than Duna!_

The two souls in tandem cry with each other over a tiny tea table, each of their hands—or in one case paws—crossed over its tiny, brown surface wrinkled in age and a casual tablecloth. They sit not in stools but on their legs, each of them burst into tears.

The one on the left's face springs of even more pink than usual. Her eyes, torn with tears, stir bits of clear fluid like ink to cast across her cheeks and into the tablecloth below. Instead of her usual twin tails of hair forked into hair bands, she's left it loose: angry, uncontrollable, bubblegum pink curls explode past her shoulders in tyrannical discord, just the emotion she's feeling right now.

The second, to the right, is a shortened version of a vivosaur—one who shrunk himself to fit in the room as his body mass, like all vivosaurs, is not a complete total. And vivosaurs over one hundred feet long tend to abuse this method as needed. His crumbly-brown hot cocoa colored body curls up around itself, his nubby paws like galoshes against the unforgivable table. His eyes, bright amethyst, spill over in their own sort of tears, his underbelly shining a similar sort of gem. The sauropod—seismo—raises his head toward the girl, and, in response, struggles not to scream.

 _Rosie, I promise, my dear lassie, we will_ certainly _make my poor boy realize just how severely he is falling in love with you! B-But without taking Duna out of the running please because I love her dearly. Um! We will do all that we can to show him his love! Without harming Duna! Anything that you ask for—er, almost—I will help you in the trying to do as we must! Ohhh, Dino! My poor boy! Must you... oh, must you fondle and kiss this beautiful, so heavenly girl!_

A sigh; she will get what she wants and pretend that she'll beat Duna.

She blushes from the extent of the praise until throwing her squealing self again into the table, elbows landing with a profound _tooomph._ She whispers, _Pippy, please, give me your wisdom and tell me your ways! What can I do to make him love me! What must I say! How must I act!_

And he smiles in return, flourishing his honest, lavender orbs toward her and bobbling his gentle brown head. Quietly he whispers, his long neck leaning him in further to her, deviously disheveling the table, _Hmmm... now what would work the best? Oh, um! How... about... you... give him roses? I've heard from someplace reliable this always works, madam! Roses are very scrumptious!_

 _Yes, but my_ name _has it in it! If roses worked so well, he'd already be head-over-heels!_ whines Rosie in return.

Slowly Pippy nods. _Oh, yes, true true._

 _Pippy, pleaaaaaaase can we just kill Duna so that—?_

 _NO! Ummm..._ Bashfully his head falls into the tablecloth. _Errr... as well, I would believe that... it's just a feeling, mind you, but if Duna was hurt... I believe perhaps he would not be happy... Dino, that is—and what if harming Duna gives him such unease that he soon finds he_ cannot _fall in love, ever again? I-I suppose..._ He squints his eyes, wincing. _I suppose it is somewhat presumptuous of me, but we never know..._ He would also simply rather refrain from harming the dear mistress. Duna _had_ saved him once, when Woolbeard and BB Bandits collided and he was kidnapped—a frightful twice!

Sighing. The lively pinkette slooowwwly strolls her gaze upon him again. _Okay, okay. Fine! Umm... what else can I do? Please keep going; your rose idea was pretty unique!_ Restlessly she digs her fingers through the tablecloth. Worry crosses over her eyes, as does fear.

Pippy offers a proper little vivosaur grin. His tidy tail wags beneath him. _Yes, yes! Umm... you could send him—chocolates? I heard from a wise source that chocolates are a smart conglomerate to give! And... um... Rosie, my dear, have you ever heard of a 'picking up line?' I thought it had more in common with fishing than anything but apparently fishing is romantic!_

Rosie squeals. The seismo goes on, heart pounding. _Like you could tell him... umm.. It's late at night, and you could tell him..._ Nervously his eyes scatter across the dented little table as he mumbles to himself. Faint recognition glosses over him. _Like! 'If I counted the amount of things I loved about you, it would be more than the stars in the sky!' Oh, how sweet! You can feel the passion in these unspent words! Ummm... and you could say... ummm... I heard this... that... 'Did it hurt when you fell from the sky, because you're an angel!' Isn't it sweeeet?_

Elated, the pinkette bobs her head and thrusts her face to the figure awkwardly sitting just behind them. He'd been ignored so far; his face burnt from all of the yelling he'd done, feebly trying to garner some form of attention. "Dino!" He lurches from her sugary but _loud_ tone. "U-u-ummmm! So... did someone drop an angel, because I can see myself in your eyes! There we go! Dino, how much more do you love me now?" She tosses herself toward the boy, but his shock and disposition causes a sneer to wipe over her. She glares, settling back down, and continues to ignore the boy.

"Wait. Guys?" They go back to their whispers of unique and unheard-of romantic goodies. "Guys? Um. Please stop! Guyyysss!" He continues crying out but they're so invested that there's no way he'll manage to get them yet. "Uhhhh... aw." Pouting, he decides that from prior experience, it'd be better to wait them out.

When he raises his hands from the table and sulks toward the window, the pattern of cherry blossoms is revealed, soft and pink and lovely cherry blossoms.


	8. Rosie: Flower Girl

Rosie

They shuffle quietly through the dirt while she complains. Her head's sticky; her hair's all wet now; why are they here in the first place? She wants to go home! It's all gross. Bruises of dirt on her knees crunch like extra eyes when she moves, the filthy brown irises angry with approval.

And thus, because of these things, he ignores her and every other word she has to say, but not all of them in case she spills something that requires his attention. Because, oh, she's upset? No, that's not important at all. The angry pink eyes propel through his skull, but as he takes no notice, she's effectively kicked into the dust on their heels in each form of plea. Tiny fingers wriggle into her heated head, both of irritation and temperature, and she puffs air from her pasty cheeks for the umpteenth time. Jiggling pairs of bobbing, bubblegum pink hair follow restlessly, the only happy part of her body tagging along.

"Can I ask _why_ are we in the forest anyways? It's _so_ humid and gross! I'm _tired_!"

 _Can...ask...are...in...forest...It's...humid...gross...tired!_

"A good reason."

His thinking is flawless in all but her feelings in the first place, which one would think is the most important part of toting a girl out on some form of date.

In return, she kindly explodes. "What kind of a reason is that?!"

 _What...of...reason...that?!_

"Like I said, a good one. You'll have to wait and see.

See?

"Heh."

Her volcano attempts to implode but some force of will in her, stuck on the inside like peanut butter, spoons her from eruption. The small island of sanity left inside just might be burned to smithereens if he's not careful. Not that he seems to care or anything. Nope, no way. Oblivious and stupid Dino, that's who he is! Good-for-nothing pest!

 _Oh_ , but how she loves him... such a sweet Dino, that's who he is... oh, such a wonderful, wonderful man... and he's her man, right... her man... Rosie's man...

A sly coup of vivosaurs listening in on her conversation gag.

Supposedly the pinkette could turn around: she could yank her wrist hot out of Dino's sloping grip, one uneven with his grin and the smirking in his gaze. She could cut off the toting, turn herself right around, and find herself some way out of this stinking place. She could. Certainly. But the thought never actually hits her, because Dino's _that_ close to holding her hand, and while it sucks and she smells _Dino is that close to holding her hand_. The fact alone would keep her going for weeks. Months. Years. If only he'd just keep holding it, his sturdy but wired but friendly, olive grip over her soft and gentle pink. Oh, they must be the perfect pair! Yes, yes... who would ever think otherwise?

Then a heat wave belches from what feels like the laughter in the sky and tears streak across her moist cheeks. The collection of beady water causes ugly shivers down her spine. Grunting, lip screwed betwixt some angry teeth, she mumbles, "I don't like this, Dino..."

 _I...like...Dino._

The boy in question giggles.

Rosie's fingers grit when they check the sun on her temple: but not the fingers fitfully clutching for Dino's, no, now those are sacred, her left hand, the hand she can't write anything but his own name with, is now sacred. The tips touching her body come back red-hot. Splutters. She tugs at him, gently, tries to steer him off because she's suddenly scared that the heat's a little too much for her. But Dino, stubborn and undeterred, won't listen.

Every other tug touches him. Only every other tug.

A rasp in her breath wears into her words: gentle, gentle, a tug touched and missed. Shores of the ocean playing at his feet, only ever other rasp heard. Back, forth, back... only every other footfall missed, only every other dragging foot heard.

Fingers heavy with sweat in his hand. Only every other tug touches him.

Only every other tug drags at him: and every other drag weights him, slowly, slowly, until he manages to surface a single thought. It pops in his mind: a glance back to the poor girl whose wordless follow has reduced her to little more than a pink puddle at the petals by his toes. He grunts in sight of this. Tears of sweat ring eyes, nose, mouth, lips scrunched tight and wordless. Pants of rasp reach every other step, cough and silent, worry filling the slur in between.

And finally it comes to him.

"Aw, man—that's right. How could I forget such an important thing?"

It's only this dizzying array of colors for time after time. Green and green—she only catches every other thump of the heart beating inside of her, the little thing struggling to keep her alive. Sight sways from green and green to the bashful blue of the sky, hiding behind clouds in shame after its boo-boo. She's quiet for a time, her thoughts slurred and rancid, hot breath trying and fluttering betwixt swollen lungs.

When the grasp of cool and refreshing settles within.

It's a welcome splash, one brimming of hope and acceptance and forgiving, all coating her as she _koff, koff koffs_ her way unto consciousness, peddling herself afloat through heat-hit and wet-whipped thoughts. A pang behind her eyes can't sort out the change of evening shade from a boy's gray features until the hardening of hazel eyes over her wavering fingers focuses in, and she realizes: he's holding both of her hands.

Now she can't wash either of them, they're both too sacred to even think of it.

Pretty petals spill from the vase their fingers make, the vase carefully protecting the fragile body of a flower and its dirt holding it down within. Rainbow petals, dotting and dotting in waves of color, gently stroked with a middle of bubblegum pink.

Dino quietly explains to her deafening ears—he's speaking to her with weighted words, true feeling—that there's a whole meadow out there, and he was gonna show her.

"But I'm afraid I forgot on the way that flowers need water."

It takes her a good handful of seconds before the blush punches out her cheeks and the words dumb her thoughts to the useless doodles of his name in hearts, the ones scrawled across her entire life.


	9. Rosie: Diary

**I'm sorry not sorry. More Rosie.**

Rosie

Giggles and snickers, like that of a little girl, call from within the blankets protectively shielding the figure on the bed from the outside world. Cuz this is their spot, and they don't quite want anyone disturbing them. Not from under these pink blankets, not from on this pink bed, and certainly no one outside the pink door. The pink door which is locked. Because no one else is allowed in.

Fumbling fingers tear through carefully-inked pages greedily. Giddily. The pink pages marked in pink hardback covering, this toted in pink hearts, have been written on preciously in a darker magenta penmanship. There's a fine, cursive handwriting hard to make out between shadows of blankets and its tangled elegance just within. So many heart sketches. So many bad drawings of a face, and it's the same face, usually repeatedly. Sometimes there's a second face, too.

The drawings are so bad it's hilariously embarrassing.

" _Today he said we're going on a stroll, because he feels bad after Bullwort kidnapped me. Because even though he's tired after saving me I can't hold it in much longer, I agreed. Of course I agreed! Why wouldn't I? Wait—no. Not agreed. I should say... 'obliged.' Yes! So fancy and elegant! Only the best of etiquette! It'll make him love me even more!_

" _Oh, yes, sorry, this is sort of a late entry, but I figured that even though I usually write once every day, I_ had _to get this one now! It's super duper duper important, you see! My heart can't take it—and look at all these ink blots, oh my goodness! At least I'm the only one who will ever, ever see this. It's just that... he smiled at me! I think it might be the first time! Oh, I have to try and capture that silky grin in ink! If only it was possible to draw such a beauty and seal it within pages!—I'm sure he'll one day grow to love all of this poetic insight!_

" _My vivosaurs think I've started to get a little loony, because of who I met just a couple of days ago. He—he helped me with my medals, y'know, when Medal-Dealer Joe evilly stole them, so but of course I'm loony for him! He's got such nice hands: soft but just a little worn. Oooh, I wonder if he's strong: is he manly? Does he have any muscles to sport? Ohhhh, I bet he does, I bet he does!"_

Giggles spit in heaves from underneath the mountain of blankets. The laughter is so loud, so thick and heavy, that anything from the outside is missed—the gentle tapping on the door is missed completely. The laughter is too much, but it doesn't really matter. Even if the sound was heard, the door is still locked, and the door can only be locked from the inside.

" _Oh, dear, all the drawings on this page are so embarrassing, now that I look back at them two weeks after drawing... they're sweet and I get the message behind them, but oh my gosh, these are so embarrassing. I'm so embarrassed looking at them that I would totally cry if I learned that anyone else saw them! YEEEP!"_

Awkward, loopy sketches in scratchy lines attempt to draw out a vivid imagination's wish of a first kiss beneath none other than a full moon on a balcony. What has to be the most _original_ one out there. The laughter nearly chokes its owner. The drawing depicting is so bad that tears nearly spill from the eyes and onto the page—nearly soil it and reveal the presence.

Fingers digging into the door frame effortlessly claw and kick at its wooden establishment. A muffled scream realizes what is happening and rushes off to find a grandfather whose keys on his belt will surely save the day.

More muffled laughter. Gagging laughter.

" _Wow. It's been awhile since I've written in you, diary!"_

Finally. Found it.

" _But even though I swore to myself I'd drop this soooo embarrassing habit, I can't help it after what happened today, when I saw who I think is a new fossil fighter."_

The one that started them all. Where the bad sketches of the present begin. It's hard not to laugh.

Pounding at the door and the listless _jinga-jinga_ , each muffled by rows of gallant protection—so he thinks—is ignored by this first page after years of childish babble. The one that started them all.

" _I've heard from my grandfather the boy's name. He's got bright eyes, a bright face, and I'm afraid the dreamiest—smile—ever! Oh my gosh, just looking at his face makes me woozy! I think I might seriously die from how cute he is! I know, diary, you're thinking that there's no way a cute face can support a cute personality—_

Exclamation points of marks across the door as the keys give away and light spills into the shadowy chamber of pink. A moody teen screams.

" _But you're wrong! I asked Mister Diggins and got word from Sue at the counter—he's a little sarcastic, funny, sweet, and I heard he's even a bit of a gentleman! Oohhhh, can I just kiss him now! And that's not even the best part—_

Wheezes disguise the screaming. Tears disguise the hands. He can't help it, he's dying from this _suspense_.

" _His name is soooooo heavenly that Grandpa had to convince me to stop saying it!_

Unsurprising hearts surround the incredibly cursive name, bigger than his ego. The breath of bubblegum pink blinds him.

"DIIIIIIIINNNNNNNO!"

He wonders why the book is suddenly being read aloud when a tiny but terrifyingly mighty body shoves him from her precious diary, clasped tight between shivering fingers and a blushingly mad face.

And quietly her grandfather whistles, smirking from his leaning spot against the door frame, keys jingling to the tune on his lips.


	10. Duna: Best Friend

Duna

Bright red hair flashes in front of their gazes. It's long—long enough—long enough, right?—and the flicker of it, like some fin from a fish, draws him into depths he shouldn't be jumping into. The image concocts itself within him, stitching and stitching inside his brain, each tug bringing a yank of pain completely worth the sweet whisper of release: long, straight red hair shimmering with orange, down down down to her feet; clay-brown skin; big smile; icy, blue eyes.

It's her! It has to be! Thoughts override and it's all he can think, because there's no way it can't be her. It simply is—it _has_ to be.

"Di-Dino! Y-You are tugging quite violently! What are you—"

The yanks take it across her vision, too, the reddish hair that resembles, just in swatches, a redhead she wishes would leave his tattered mind alone. Her lungs collapse when the sight compels her, but to go speechless is to send him to his death, so she must say something.

Dry tongue and dry whispers dart along for him. Attempts to bring him back toward her. "Dino." Gentle at first. "Dino... please, Dino. Think about this, please. Assess your possibilities, please. Understand... please, Dino, please." Her stomach clenches from her begging; her blood is ice inside of her, for what if he does not? What if he does not, anyways?

A punch defines her when he drags onward anyways. Blue scales knit together on her temple as she cringes and he pulls, pulls, pulls, only she must not let go, for if she lets go she may lose the boy she so loves. And so she darts along with him, thankful in her heart that at the least he has not gone berserk enough to tear with speed. His fingers, the ones not tied by hers, lash and lash at the air. His breath is frantic and questioning. Eyes wide and asking, please please please please please. Just like her, only his question cannot be granted what he so asks.

When the cruel, cruel girl turns around, a smattering wash of jaded green eyes stab him, and pale skin sets his gaze afire. Duna wants to curl up deep inside her soul and pretend, as she sucks in deep breaths, that his thoughts are not deep but jagged and small and desperate whispers, only wishes that cannot come true. Because if he stakes too much in a futile role for the futile battle of a futile war... she does not want to lose him...

"Dino... I apologize greatly... but..." She tries to be quiet; she tries to be tender. Only in turn he tries to throw her off: grief turned cruel glints as broken glass in his torn eyes. Words will not waken him; he is sleeping in the cemetery, his bed upon her grave. And from this place he cannot be taken until he wishes to open his own eyes from the clouds around him: but they are too torn, too full of tears to see the worth she trusts is standing straight up in front of him.

It is a dance around the mention of her name. It is unfortunate how many moments require "Jkonna" to grace them, until, too late, the sentence comes out awkward and it is obvious what sort of cover is needed. What sort of euphemism must patch up the wound of the loss. But he is not blind to these things, to these things of all.

An irrational wish: if only all of the redheads left would... would... would dye their hair a different color. An irrational wish, if no more irrational than his, may she return. But she cannot return; she is gone; and only if Dino could lower his head from the clouds that taint the world and see the worth that is in front of him, the worth that she wants to be her, Duna.

Clearing her throat. To give in is to give up, and to give up means loss. The futile war will spoil. She does not want to lose him. "Dino, please... if you can, listen. If you can, focus on these words and please at least try to think of them." Duna regrets her inability in this area to sympathize. Personally she cannot comprehend the loss of another being to blind one: they are gone and the wound will eventually close, only give it time. She only sees that loss is messy to many beings; it cracks them, glass on the floor, and the pieces are all gone now.

Hazy eyes unfocus, focus, blink, blink. Does he hear her? The heart in her chest throbs.

Voice softer than it usually is, her lilac whisper seeks him: "Dino... you are a kind boy. I-I understand this. You... are much kinder than me, I would think." She would think: but is she even worth it? Worth it to him? "S-Sometimes, n-no one can deny that you are a fool, a silly fool." Swallow. "But there is nothing wrong with that, as we all have flaws, and yours are very sweet."

Whether or not it is only pure luck, his fingers have gently begun to peel open: petals exposing themselves toward the sunlight. Hurriedly Duna plucks at his hands, squeezes his olive skin unto her blue scales, wishing and wishing for him to hear her. She wants to protect his precious heart, his precious flowering—dying—heart, if at all she can. Because he _is_ nice. He is too nice for this. His niceness warms her but he can not seem to tell.

"An-And you are thoughtful. You like to notice things, e-even if you never truly mention it. You make jokes, and the jokes make people laugh, and the laughter is good for you because then you laugh in turn. And that is a-a-a very good thing. I-I l-l-l..." Head duck. "Lo-Love... your laugh... Dino..."

Duna is the shy one. Her head curls into itself as her body shakes and she cannot help but fall even as Dino stands. She pulls herself over, weight tugging at the boy but not quite bringing him alongside her. And being the shy one, her magenta curls flicker over streaking eyes. Teeth nibble thoughtlessly upon her lip—and it's a cute nibble.

She cries over the stupidest things. It's easy to tip her over into tears, if you know how to tip her. And that's cute, too.

"I-I am sorry!" Sobbing rasps, sobbing gasps. Soft and simple and that lilac whisper, hitched and hitched by her silent screams. "I-I love your laugh, Di-Dino! I re-really do... really do! An-A-And it ma-makes me sa-ad to see it go-gone! I-I-I am sorry, Dino! Please lau-ugh! Ple-ease... Dino... It makes me... sa-s-s-ssad..." Splutter, splutter, sob. "Now that it is go-gone... Please come back again..." She begs quietly for his head to leave the clouds, because she does not want the sun to come out tomorrow, she wants it today. The throbbing in her heart tells more than suggests that she needs it today.

Still, he is a little too deaf to hear it. The rumble of thunder, her voice in the air, is very clear, but until the rain hits, he is senseless.

But there it comes... there it comes...

 _plip... plip... plip... plip..._

Tears... tears dripping like wax from her eyes, down, down to their fingers she grips so tightly to. She can only hear her pathetic sobs, and it scares her, because now she is terrified that she is so pathetic, and her sobs are so pathetic, that now he _hates_ her and will _never_ smile with her around _ever_. Shivering, shivering, flashes as her eyes alight beneath bangs, sobbing softer now, tears bright droplets she has yet to notice are drowning him in sensation.

It is gentle at first, and she cannot tell, blinded by what she calls her own idiocy. Gentle fingers pressing hers and leaving them by her sides, gentle thumbs brushing to attempt and eventually give up on the fruitless stemming of endless rain.

And finally, hands encircle her sides and lift, softly, lift her so that she lies over his shoulder, tail drooping in the air, sobs cascading down his spine. He carries her from the public, for he does not want to share his little storm with anyone, his precious droplets of tears, the cute Duna sobs that he wants to be his and his alone, and so he hides off behind a building with her crying. He tries to cradle her, but he usually refrains from holding girls, so it is awkward for him.

"I'm sorry," he works up the courage to mumble, "I'm sorry I scared you..." Clearing of throat. "But I'm here... okay?" Deep breaths. Heart spikes.

Gentle fingers encircle her sides, and gentle hands cup and pull her toward the ground again. The cute and sobbing Duna curls up to him, head stuffed into his gray shirt. And perhaps the rain has yet to cease, and the sobbing in her throat has yet to die, but that is not what matters.

For the tiniest rainbow, expanding upside-down from precious little lips, is far more than enough for him. And smiling just a little greedily, he is happy to know that this rainbow is his alone.


End file.
